It's mostly a freeform pick-up game. Just come in, make a description for your character, and try to weave yourself in with the story. Not necessarily in that order, either. There are a few rules I'd like to lay down, though. First off, no one can be a specific character from any of the games. No Security Officer/Cyborg/Whatever, no Durandal/Leela/Tycho, no Tfear, no Robert Blake, etc. These must all be ORIGINAL CHARACTERS. I'm planning on using these people (including possibly the other Mjolnir Cyborgs on Tau Ceti) as NPCs who will advance the story. Also, don't just put yourself (or any other "real-life" person) in. Not to mention characters from other stories. Use common sense, OK? Second, no "god-moding." You can't describe what happens to other peoples' characters, only what your character is doing. Third, I'd prefer to keep characters human for now, but once the story gets moving, if someone wants to play a Pfhor, S'pht, Drinniol, etc. (maybe not a Wasp or Looker though), that's awesome. Fourth, STAY SERIOUS. It's ok to have some humor, but, and I hate to say this, the game must NOT devolve into a bunch of "random" jokes and such. I especially don't want to see lame Marathon humor about ventcores and shit. These aren't the mentally-challenged BoBs the SO ran into. Fifth, leave out-of-character stuff out of this thread. If it appears to be necessary, I will make another thread for OOC discussion so we can bounce ideas around before they become "official" here. More rules might be made as I deem appropriate.

With that said, here goes nothing.

We are a group of "BoBs" who have found ourselves trapped in a section of the UESC Marathon during the Pfhor attack and Durandal's subsequent manifestation of his Rampancy. We might not be as mighty as the Security Officer, but we can take care of ourselves if we keep our eyes open. Based on terminals we've come across, chance encounters with other survivors, and the sounds of sporadic gunfire, we think there may be other pockets of resistance we can join with the ultimate goal of escaping from the Marathon. There is even rumor of a man named Robert Blake on Tau Ceti who wants to do more than just resist. But whom can we really trust? No one knows what is happening with the ship's AIs, and they were the ones we relied on most in peacetime. How long will it be before our meager ammunition supplies are exhausted? Is it even safe on Tau Ceti?

No one is responding on the communications terminals. We will have to find the answers on our own.

Gerald Perkins walks down a narrow, dark corridor identical to the hundreds he has traversed in the last hours. He is a junior engineer working on his certification in AI Diagnostics, Maintenance, and Repair. Or, he was, until the whole Marathon turned upside-down on him.

He doesn''t know where to go. His beat is the ship's upper decks, where things are clean and neat out of necessity. Were clean and neat. That world is long-gone now, and the strangely-familiar door freakouts along his path made it impossible for him to go back. He has no one now; His last friend is a smear on one of the navigational mainframes, put there by one of the pale, musclebound brutes under command of the buglike aliens who were attacking.

"Shit," he says aloud, running a dirty hand through unruly orange hair. It's his first time speaking since that unexpected melee. He knows now to bludgeon with his wrench first and ask questions later, but it's a lesson hard-learned. He hears a noise up ahead, and this time it's not one of the many clanks and moans coming from the unfamiliar machinery in this life support deck. He realizes that speaking was probably a bad idea, but hopes the aliens are too far behind for it to matter. What if there is another person in the darkness, one who knows the way around this deck, and who can help him get to an escape pod?

Leaning his wrench against his leg, he cups his hands to his mouth and shouts as loud as he can. "Hey! Is anyone there?"

A moment of silence passed, then all of a sudden he heard sounds of gunfire. The forward part of the corridor flashed mulitiple times, and the reek sound of Pfhor drawing their last breath filled it. The corridor lied silent, dark and filled with smoke from the gunfire. You could notice a faint red glow from a cigarette emerging from the shades as a voice uttered "Hell yeah."A fairly tall man in a security jumpsuit saying "S.R, Marathon security" revealed himself. You could tell that he has been working out from time to time. He had black hair, unshaved face and one of those evil Grins. His face gave the feeling of a man that would save his own skin before anyone elses, a creep one may say."Simon's the name, if you want my last name you have to buy me dinner." he said, as he threw the cigarette onto the corpse of the dead pfhor, and reloaded his pistol.

::OOC notes for you irons::-------------------------------i will try to my best efforts in adding a character, if you feel like he's too much ill jsut remove the post and come with something better i guess alter. also when saying "Marathon security" its no officer, just a door guard or something. and if its to early, you can replace pfhor with alien untill that the group knows their name i suppose...-------------------------------::End of OOC notes, irons::

Gerald clearly doesn't know quite what to think. He has never been good at this kind of thing, and he can't decide whether Simon is serious or not. "Gerald's my name, Gerald Perkins. I work... worked... on the AIs and related systems." Dead silence reigns as he tries to find more to say. "I'm glad I found someone with a real weapon. This wrench only works on those skinny guys, and just the ones who don't shoot at you."

He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "I came from that direction. The doors are acting kind of, uh, odd right now. If I didn't know better, I'd say one of our AI is on the fritz. I think I heard this deck has manual overrides for most of its hatches. I guess since you're with security, you know your way around this whole ship. I was kind of hoping to find an escape pod somewhere. Do you know where to find one?" Glancing again at the cruel face, he adds, "What's your plan, anyway?"

Simon inspects Gerald for a brief moment, finally he says..."It is really nice to see another soul in this place, I have probably walked around in circles untill i found you. I was trying to get to the escape pods but they where either gone, offline or simply cut off from where i was.""My current plan is to use the crawl tubes and vent shafts to access the upper decks of the ship, so far no luck, they are mostly blocked or simply to small for me."Simon starts leaning to the side of the wall, making a daft thump as his shoulder hits the cold plating."I only got 2 more magazines so if we plan to bump into more of these... bugs, I suggest we find a security station, perhaps we can find you a pistol aswell then.""If i remember correctly there should be a door locked open a few meters from here, since behind you is a dead end, we should look there."

Simon sighs as he looks around, suddenly he utters... "Its Robertsson by the way, my last name that is."

Jodoc Paol stopped abruptly. Is someone coming? He could swear he heard something. Can't be too careful these times he thought to himself. His hands let go of the crowbar he had stuck between the door and its frame.

Jodac is the rough type. Rebellious by nature and he didn't enjoy a too good rumor on marathon. Fights, thefts, intrusion, lying, you name it. He's the kind of man you either love or hate...but most people probably hated Jodoc. He just wasn't a people man. Humans in general annoyed him. They stood in his way, always eager to give their opinions against him.

Jodoc started to sneak down the corridor picturing the kind idiot he might encounter. Either it is a woman, or a stupid man, he thought to himself. Fuck, you don't scream down here. Anyone knows that.

His train of thought got distrupted by a couple of gunshots. They were close, that much he knew. He brought up his knife and pressed against the wall. He could hear two people talking not far away. One of them sounded cocky, and the other one sounded like a technician of some sort. Jodoc decided to stay put and eavesdrop.

"Robertsson, you say. Sorry, I call people by their last names. Just habit, I guess... And that's how everyone talks to me." Clearly relieved that Simon has toned down some of his gruff exterior, Gerald smiles. "Bugs you say? I wonder what they're really called. Have you heard from anyone else in security since the attack?" Now that the ice is broken, he finds it all to easy to chatter on. Without waiting for an answer, he says. "Listen, I think some ways back I passed a maintenance hatch. Even if it's too small for you, I might be able to travel down it and look for some--"

He cuts himself off. Not only does he hear what sounds like footsteps from one of the side corridors connecting to the one in which they stand, but behind Robertsson looms an orange, caped figure. It is tall enough to touch the ceiling, but it hasn't made a sound in approaching the men. Gerald sees it is floating some distance off the ground. There's no way it can be human. The orange cloak parts. "Look out!" he yells to Robertsson, raising his wrench in case the thing decides to attack.

As soon as Gerald shouts out "Look out!". Simon dodges and turns around, pulling his gun."Holy shit! what is that thing?" Simon says.The floating contraption reacts to Simons hostile reaction, and analyzes the situation.

Before he knows what's happening, Gerald notices the front of the creature (or is it the back? It has no face that he can see) under the cape glowing an ominous, sickly green. Gerald brushes past Robertsson and throws all his weight into swinging the wrench at the thing. It doesn't quite reach his target; Instead of clanging against the source of the light, the wrench bounces against some sort of protection field that flares briefly with the impact. The field pushes back with enough force to send the wrench flying backwards into the darkness, narrowly missing Robertsson's head. The light stops glowing for a moment, and the thing appears to be confused. Gerald tries to backpedal, but slips on a small puddle of oil. He falls down, right under the creature, which is now pointing its aperture directly at him.

As the adrenaline starts to pump in Simons veins once again, he notices how the creature is focusing on Gerald. Simon takes advantage of this as uses the whole magazine in what appears to be the head of the thing. the creature reacts but to late, and takes all 8 bullets.The second the 8th bullet penetrates the creature, it vaporizes into thin air...Simon quickly takes hold of Geralds arm and drags him up on his feet again and says..." That hatch you mentioned? I think we should go for that one..."

"What the hell was that?" Gerald barks. After taking a moment to calm down, he continues, "Hey... thanks. Sorry you had to use a whole clip, though. We only have one left." He stands on his own, still a little shaken. "I've never done this kind of thing before. It's all pretty new to me." He starts to go back in the direction he came from, then remembers the footsteps he heard before the attack. "Are you sure you haven't seen anyone else around here? I thought I heard someone off in this direction. Maybe he can help us. Maybe he even has some extra ammo!" In his mind's eye, Gerald retraces the path he has taken to get this far. "OK, follow me," he says, stooping down to pick up his wrench. Under the dim utility lights, it looks a little worse for the wear, but still capable of causing damage. "It shouldn't take long to get there."

Harley Daniels was always a courageous man; always looked upon by his peers as the man who takes the role of being calm and controlled, always finding the best solution to any problem; always looking out for others in the worst of situations. Sure, he was short, stocky, and unfit, but his weaknesses would never stop the sheer strength of his heart, for he would always compensate for any of his weaknesses. But not today. Today he was going to die.

He pulled the barrel of his firearm away from his dark-haired head and examined it. It was over eight-hundred years old; a relic, by regular standards. It could only hold six shots at a time. And now he had only one left. Then in the distance, he heard footsteps coming his way. Just around the next corner. He tried to make out the sounds of chatter coming from them?human? Alien? Did he just hear someone mutter something about "extra ammo"? Frustrated, he brought his free hand to his left ear. His ear that was shredded and was now bleeding intensely, as he had lost all hearing from it when it caught the shrapnel of a Pfhor's hand grenade. And now he didn't know what to do. He brought the pistol back to the side of his head?hands shaking, tears streaming down his face.

The two run through a corridor, when Gerald stops almost tripping his partner."Why did you stop?" said Simons.Gerald slowly pointed to a blood soaked terminal on the wall next to them that flickered every so often.Gerald saw something that had caught his eye.Since this whole ordeal started, all the terminals simply read the same Marathon Emergency Broadcast Message.But not this terminal, this one had different message. It read:

"WARNING TO ANY SURVIVORS OF THE UESC MARATHON"The message seemed to have been made by a survivor, not an automated message.Gerald thought it may be important so he had stopped to read it.What the message said next was chilling.

"Be wary of other survivors..."

The message was incomplete, Gerald looked further down the hall and almost vomited.The entire hallway was covered in gore from a human being, as though he had been blown to pieces.

Had some of the other survivors have done this? Gerald could only surmise the connection between the message and the scene down the hallway. Perhaps the one who made the message was part of a group and had survived the explosion. But what caused it?

Simons spoke up."C'mon lets go, the longer we stay here, the more likely we are to meet up with more aliens."

Gerald motioned him on, and the two continued running. They slowed down so as not to slip on the gory mess down the hall.It was almost pitch black forward and back.Gerald kicked something metallic. In dim light of a flickering maintenance lamp was an Assault Rifle. In it had to be ammo.Gerald knelt down next to the rifle to pick it up when Simons jumped up."Another survivor!" He said, pointing to where Gerald had discontinued looking to focus on the rifle.It indeed was another survivor, but he moved awkwardly toward them, and he wasn't answering Simon.

"Who are you?" Said Simons a second time.The survivor stepped into the light. The sight off him sent a chill down Gerald's spine.His eyes were red, and his teeth were unsightly, it was disgusting. He hadn't seen it until he came up close.Gerald raised his rifle to his chest."Don't move!" Gerald yelled, pressing the rifle harder into the survivor's chest."Who ARE YOU?"

The survivor raised a hand, Gerald's eyes grew wide, he hadn't been able to see the hands until they were closer to the dim light on the ceiling.His hands were deformed, alien like, only three fingers.Simon saw it too, and raised his weapon to the survivor's head, but before he could fire, the survivor screamed in a terrifyingly hellish voice:FROG BLAST THE VENT---!!!

Both Gerald and Simon fired. The sound of gunfire, then an explosion.

Gerald woke up looking at the ceiling, he tried to move but couldn't. He looked down, he had no lower body, there was blood everywhere.Some of the blood was yellow, Gerald looked to his right.It was the terminal he saw earlier, he read the message one last time as he slowly died.

"WARNING TO ANY SURVIVORS OF THE UESC MARATHON"Be wary of other survivors..."

Last edited by MoppyPuppy on Mar 11th '10, 05:24, edited 1 time in total.

irons wrote:There are a few rules I'd like to lay down, though. [...]Second, no "god-moding." You can't describe what happens to other peoples' characters, only what your character is doing.

So as you probably see, your post used god-moding?controlling the other characters instead of making one of your own and describing what _your_ character is doing. I actually made the exact same mistake, which you can see in the EFM OOC/Support thread.

"Son of a bitch, what is all that noise." Samuel Fattman woke with a start and put his hand up to his aching forehead. He thought he heard weird noises coming from outside his room, and he swore he could hear gunshots in the distance.

"I don't have time for this shit." On rare occasion, there were times when he regretted always being hung over. This was one of those times. He picked up the nearest hard object to his bed and threw it as hard as he could at his pet M.A.D.D.

"Get to work, you worthless sack of shit. Go kill whatever or whoever is outside. I'm trying to sleep."

With what almost seemed like reluctance, the machine made its way out into the hallway. After it had opened the door to his room, he could hear what sounded like weird alien yells. The M.A.D.D opened fire in all directions tearing everything to shreds.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me." The stupid machine had forgotten to close the door behind it, and had just sent a few hundred bullets inches past his head. As the defense drone returned to the room, Sam started to yell at the top of his voice at his malfunctioning pet. That is, until he was reminded that he had a splitting headache, and suddenly went quiet.

"Forget it. I'll deal with you in the morning. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother to keep you running." He gave the drone one final kick before getting back into bed. He turned over and fell asleep.

Marathoner325 wrote:So as you probably see, your post used god-moding?controlling the other characters instead of making one of your own and describing what _your_ character is doing. I actually made the exact same mistake, which you can see in the EFM OOC/Support thread.

*Sigh*I admit, with every post being at least a paragraph I didn't read anything except the last post.My bad. Correction time.

My Gerald and Simons get killed via simulacrum post

Gerald snapped out of it and kept running down hall with Simons wondering where that daydream came from.

"hey, Sid." Simon uttered.The same second Simon could hear something from where Gerald originated, "An explosion!" he said with a vast voice, and started running. He did not care for his newfound companions, he just ran back untill he saw this guy, damaged from the blast, ready to shoot anything that came near, and the hatch Gerald spoke about badly dented a few meters away from him.Simon yelled at the guy, but did not get a reply. The blast must have amaged his ears aswell."Gerald, Sid, get over here!" Simon said with haste."I must make myself visible without getting shot..." Simon thought.A second later he took of the jacket of hist jumpsuit and started to wave it in the entrance."Hope he sees it." Simon said to himself.

Jodoc stayed put and looked at the other man, the technican, as he had labeled him. He was unsure of the relationship between these two men. Friends? Just met each other? Whatever their deal was, he had to know it.

Hesitantly, Harley lowered the barrel of his weapon away from his head and out in front of him. Cautiously he stood up and saw that someone was waving their jacket at him from around the corner. Keeping his remaining ear pointed towards the person around the corner, he walked towards them.

It won't matter. I'm still going to die. They can't have my gun.

Last edited by Marathoner325 on Mar 11th '10, 18:28, edited 1 time in total.

Simon stopped waving and carefully started to peak around the corner."I am coming in, OK? can you respond?" Simon said.while waiting for a response, Simon started to look around for a first aid kit, they usually hand on the walls here and there.Simon turned towards the corridor facing the other guys, they were probably about 50 meters away from him. "I need some help over here, where are you guys!?" he yelled.

Harley continued to approach the man around the corner."H-hey, don't worry, I won't shoot."He walked around the corner and saw in front of him was a tall, bulky man; he looked like the kind of man you normally wouldn't get in the way of, but right now he just looked concerned."I need some help over here?where are you guys?!" the man had yelled.Behind him Harley saw two other men, running towards them. Would he be safe with these men?"H-hello..." Harley wheezed. His throat was sore and dry. He coughed up some blood, and said again,"Hello, my name is Harley," his voice at the tone of a whisper. "I don't want to die..."

Last edited by Marathoner325 on Mar 11th '10, 23:39, edited 1 time in total.

Marty MacLeary found comfort in the sound of a nearby platform that was failing to deactivate. That and the pills he had chewed moments ago.

Marty wanted to be a doctor since age 7. Recalling an exclamation from his mother, "No monkeys jumping on the bed!" and his responsive jumping from the bed to floor; the sensation of hitting the hardwood chest of drawers; and finally the cracking sound his arm made. He was fascinated and infatuated how something so painful to him could be so routine and manageable to someone else. "Doctors must be larger than life," he had thought.

The remembrance forced his mind out of euphoria and into partial lucidity. He wouldn't normally abuse his access to such powerful drugs, but after returning to the Medbay with a fresh coffee just in time to witness his nurse's deathblow from an over-sized insect's bludgeon, and to then watch that alien and another beat each other to death he decided he needed something to take the edge off.

Dr. MacLeary tilted his head and rubbed his eyes. After taking notice of the medkit on wall being washed by the flicking terminal he helped himself to his feet. Feeling a little ashamed for cowering behind the surgical table for so long, he carried his foggy head to the Medkit.

Medkit lodged between his arm and his side he crawled into an overhead air duct. "Let's see if anyone's out there," he said softly. The cool breeze from the air processors was sobering. As he neared a grill in the ductwork he slowed ready to observe the situation outside in the corridor outside the Medbay. Somewhat relieved to find it empty he pressed on to the next room.

Thank the sun that went nova so that Earth could have iron and silicon.

Matt Drovic raced down the darkened maintenance passage, the demonic rat tat tatting of orange pellets falling in the hallway behind him. The screams of his shipmate David chasing him far faster than any alien abomination could travel. He remembered the man's warm smile the day they had met in the shuttle on Mars, remembered too the look of bewilderment and betrayal on his face as Matt fired his last pistol bullet into the man's back, his death buying a precious few seconds for Matt to escape. He stopped for a second to catch his breath and then set off again. The infernal cackling of what he had heard David call an Enforcer close behind. He sped up, jumping, ducking and twisting away from and around bodies and debrees that littered the passageway as if he were taking on some infernal obstacle course arranged to the chaotic will of ballistics and high explosives. He finally stumbled out into a part of the ship that still seemed largely intact. A placard on the wall read Sector 3A crewman's mess. He was going inspect his new environment more but a distant footfall distracted from any further sightseeing, he turned around to see the alien's silhouette filling the hallway he had just traversed. He looked about frantically for a door but all read unserviceable, crimson pools of light illuminating their readouts. There was still power in the sector but something had knocked out door control. Then he saw it, the weapon of one of the skinny bugs, some sort of electrified spear or staff. He reached for it, but as he lifted the thing the shaft broke, the head fell to the ground and shattered. A sizeable piece dislodged itself and penetrated his leg, all the while the light scuffing of the alien's feet came closer, it seemed all hope was beyond him but then the blood spiraling along the jagged piece of crystal in his leg sparked a moment of intuition. He yanked it out of the wound and smiled.